


22 Years of MLM Love

by ThatForestPrince



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Human/Monster Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatForestPrince/pseuds/ThatForestPrince
Summary: Happy 22nd anniversary of the fallout franchise. Within this fic will be 5 one-shots of various MLM relationships from each major game, hope you all enjoy!





	1. The next leap forward (Male Vault Dweller/Pat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaughn and Pat observe all they’ve accomplished in Arroyo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaughn is my vault dweller and Pat is male in this fic.

_ A great accomplishment shouldn’t be the end of the road, just the starting point for the next leap forward. _

**-Harvey Mackay**

Vaughn was quiet as he looked out over the small village of Arroyo from his tent atop a small hill, his eyes brimming with an indescribable emotion. Pat was careful not to startle the man as he closed the tent flap carefully and came to stand at his husband’s side. It was pitch dark out and Pat had woken to Vaughn missing from bed, he couldn’t help but worry. As gently as he could, the young tribal took the vault dweller’s larger hand into his and stroked his thumb over the other’s comfortingly.

It had been 6 years ago now that they had first met, both lonely travelers with troubled pasts and a love of culture and music. They had spent the whole night discussing some of the most obscure topics you could ever come across in the wasteland. It wasn’t until after The Master was gone that they had met once again and shared a night together.

It wasn’t long after that that Pat joined Vaughn on his journey to Arroyo. 

“What’s the matter?” Pat asked his husband simply, looking up at the other man searching his face for what could be wrong. 

Vaughn didn’t answer at first, continuing to stare off into space for a few moments before letting out a shuddering sigh and turning to look at Pat with a tired smile. “Just had a nightmare.”

Pat frowned softly as he spoke, unable to keep the concern off his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Same as usual,” The vault dweller let out a bitter chuckle, upset at the frequency of his nightmares. “The master comes back and destroys everything that we’ve built here.”

Pat moved to embrace his husband then, wrapping his arms around the man and looking up at him. “The Master is dead now… He can’t hurt you or us anymore.”

The man sighed again, though this time sounding much more stable. “I know he is, I  _ made sure _ that he was dead. Why can I not get over this fear of him?”

Pat fully pulled Vaughn into a hug then, tucking his face into the crook of his husband’s neck. “That is what trauma is like, my love. He left a wound in your mind and it has yet to heal, it is not your fault.”

“When will it heal?”

“When it is ready to heal, it will. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in many years. But it will heal. Now that Arroyo is settled, that is what we can work towards.”

Suddenly, Vaughn was gently lifting Pat’s chin up to kiss him tenderly and held it for only a few moments before pulling back to reveal the joyful expression Pat had come to know his husband for. “You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”

As Vaughn was pulling away, Pat was about to speak and suggest they head back to bed, when the soft cry of a baby sounded from within their personal tent. Vaughn chuckled quietly in amusement before holding his hand out to his husband. “Looks like we’re needed. Come on.”

Pat couldn’t have been more happy to take his husband’s hand and head back into their tent. 


	2. Abnormality (Goris/Male Chosen One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goris isn't sure how he feels about the chosen one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of sexual acts, unconventional relationship
> 
> Nine-Lives is my chosen one who happens to be a psyker. This takes place near the end of the game, but before retrieving the G.E.C.K.

Goris didn’t know how long they had been driving now, possibly the whole day or even more. He could tell that Nine-Lives was beginning to get sick of not having the earth under his feet, if the soured expression on his face was anything to go by, as he often did when driving long distances. He was a tribal after all and Goris knew how it felt to be detached from your roots for too long.

When the Chosen One began to bounce his leg anxiously and tapping his fingers gently on the wheel, Goris finally spoke up. “It is very dark out, perhaps we should find a place to stop for the night.”

The man immediately relaxed and let out a sigh of relief, taking his eyes off the road in front of them for a moment to lay his head back against the seat. “Oh thank god, I’m so fuckin’ sick of driving.”

It wasn’t long until they came across the very bare bones remains of what was some type of building, maybe a gas station or something. Didn’t matter what it had been, as long as it was big enough to hide the Highwayman behind one of its walls and they could fit their large tent into the space. Nine-Lives had gone and found it specially for Goris, having not wanted the deathclaw to sleep on his own in the open. Goris hasn’t ever met a human that had shown him such kindness before.

While Goris built a small fire to cook their dinner on, Nine-Lives went to work setting up the tent while Heartaches by the Numbers blasted from the car stereo. The Chosen One’s dogs seemed quite happy to finally be out of the car, telling by how excited they were. Frankie, the young herding dog Nine-Lives had brought with him when he left Arroyo, trotted along at the man’s heels while Argos, an extremely sickly dog they had stumbled across in the desert, and Dogmeat ran around the small camp as they played together.

Goris couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over Nine-Lives’ features as he bounced about the camp along to the music. The man had long since removed his signature combat leather jacket, leaving only the revealing tribal garb underneath. The deathclaw had to restrain himself from letting out an appreciative rumble as he watched Nine-Lives’ muscles work as he set up the tent.

When he finished, he turned to present his handiwork, only for his face to flush up at the way Goris was looking at him. The deathclaw wondered how the human could read him so well, no other humans could. Maybe it was due to his rumored psychic ability, Goris didn’t know, but the man always seemed to know what he was thinking. Their relationship had been like this for a while now, just quiet flirting back and forth. It never went any farther and Goris constantly wondered what the human truly wanted from him.

Goris rambled on as they ate dinner, a generous helping of brahmin stew for each of them and left-overs for all the dogs. The two wastelanders discussed culture and other such topics the entire time, only pausing in their discussion to eat. Goris honestly loved talking with Nine-Lives, even if his train of thought was a little hard to follow and he tended to ramble. (He had gotten used to it easily, within the first few days of following the man around.) Nine-Lives was more than happy to listen to his theories on the evolution of culture, even if the topic was a little hard to follow. 

Goris had only been with the Chosen One for a month now as they searched for parts to fix Vault 13’s main computer but he wouldn’t describe their relationship as… normal, per se. The Chosen One was the perfect example of “subverting expectations” and Goris more than admired him for it. When he first met Nine-Lives, he thought he could read the man perfectly the moment he met him. A scrawny fellow with too much stress on his shoulders who used his good looks to get what he needed and had had too many rumors spread about him. 

Of course this assumption was quickly left in the dust by finding out that most of the rumors about the man were true. Yes, he drove one of the few working cars in the wasteland and accidentally ran over someone with it. Yes, he successfully fixed Gecko’s power plant  _ by himself _ . Yes, he had kissed a supermutant in full view of a notorious mutant-hater. Yes, he had actually starred in a porn film.

Despite this, Goris did not define Nine-Lives by the countless strange things he did. He defined him by the way he knew every word to every song he owned for his car’s radio, by the way he refused to let talk down to him, and by the open and affectionate way he loved others. That last one was the thought that he had been focusing on the most recently. The Chosen One was just so different compared to the humans living in Vault 13 and was extremely affectionate with his friends. The first time Nine-Lives had leaned in close and kissed him gently on the forehead, Goris swears that his heart stopped for a moment. From then on, he couldn’t help but crave those moments. 

Why did he? Well, just like humans, deathclaws were social creatures. They needed touch just like humans did. Maybe that was why.

“Goris!”

The deathclaw was torn out of his thoughts and looked down to see the Chosen One looking up at him, his eyes filled with concern. “You okay there, buddy? You trailed off.”

“I apologize. I think I am just tired.” That was a complete lie and Nine-Lives could tell, but thankfully he didn’t question it.

“Okay… Let’s head to bed, then.”

Goris helped as best he could to clean up after dinner, but couldn’t do much with his lack of dexterity. Once the dogs were fed, the fire was put out, and the cooking utensils were cleaned, the Chosen One flopped down into the back of the Highwayman happily. He threw Goris a ‘sleep well’ before pulling a blanket over himself and quickly becoming dead to the world.

The large deathclaw watched him for a moment before sighing and carefully fitting himself into the large tent. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep well tonight and he was completely right. He doesn’t know how long he lays half-awake, listening to the quiet sounds of the desert, before the sound of a car door opening brings him back to full awareness. The car door slams shut and someone walks towards the tent. They don’t say anything, but Goris can hear them crying quietly.

On a hunch, the large deathclaw stays silent and waits. Finally, after a few minutes, the person opens the tent. Nine-Lives is standing there, as he suspected, looking absolutely terrible. Almost on instinct, he chuffed quietly as if he were greeting another deathclaw. He did not understand why he did, he’d certainly ponder this later when he was more awake, but the human didn’t seem to mind. Wordlessly, the man enters the tent curls up next to Goris, pressing his face into his robed chest. Well, this was certainly new.

Very cautiously, he lifts his arm and wraps it gently around the much smaller human. Nine-Lives silently moves closer and tucks his whole body against Goris’. Okay. Okay… This was.. Probably fine. Nine-Lives was weird, maybe he should just accept whatever the hell was going on.

And so, he did. He curls himself around the human protectively and relaxes back against the wall of the tent. Sleep comes for Goris much easier after that.

Hopefully Nine-Lives won’t mention his purring in the morning.


	3. Allowed. (Charon/Male Lone Wanderer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon discovers feelings that he hasn't felt in many decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Much more violence than the last 2 chapters, memory loss, descriptions of wounds.
> 
> Context: Briar is my Lone Wanderer who has happened to have lost all his memories. His story will be elaborated on in future works.

Charon honestly didn’t know what to think of the strange man who had saved him from his probable life-time servitude to Ahzrukhal 4 weeks ago.

The man, Briar (weird name, but he’d heard worse), was completely unafraid to touch Charon, despite him being a ghoul. Hell, he didn’t even seem to notice that Charon was a ghoul! The man touched him outside of it being necessary, too, which was horribly out of character for wastelanders. He would take Charon’s hand while he rambled about whatever interested him at the time, grab his hand and pull him along when he thought the ghoul wasn’t walking fast enough, and he would even lean on Charon while they were resting! He had never had an employer who had been as touchy-feely as Briar was that weren’t trying to get into his pants. Basically, it was weird and Charon didn’t know how to handle it.

All his thoughts of his employer are forgotten at the sudden yelling of supermutants. Well, not all of them. His first new thought is ‘Where the hell is Briar and how can I get him to safety as fast as possible?’. The man was completely useless in a fight, with a tire iron being the only weapon he was willing to use. 

Briar had been kneeling down to go through his backpack, so Charon did the logical thing and grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him behind the cover of an old burned-out car. Looking around him, he can already tell that this wasn’t an ideal situation. The area they were in didn’t have many escapes, most of which were blocked by supermutants, and he was beginning to run out of ammo as he shot at the mutants. He looked over suddenly as more ammo and a grenade was pushed into his hands by his employer. Okay, maybe he wasn’t completely useless.

After another 5 minutes of fighting, Charon was aiming to get a supermutant in the head when suddenly the car in front of them caught fire. The ghoul had barely enough time to move Briar behind him before it exploded in a fiery ball of heat and radiation. Charon didn’t fall unconscious, thank god, but his back burned like hell and the pounding of his contract’s influence in his head told him that Briar had gotten injured.

He ignored the loud ringing in his ears as he pulled his employer into his arms and pushed himself onto his feet, taking off in a run as soon as he could. He doesn’t know how long he runs before the pounding in his head subsides. Charon looks around him and finds that he somehow found his way out of downtown DC and into a much less dangerous area. There is a small shack nearby that looks uninhabited, so he sighs and heads for that.

When he gets into the shack, he places Briar down gently on the mat inside and looks him over. The man is slightly paler than usual and he has a wound on his head from where it hit the ground, but other than that he is okay. Charon breathes a loud sigh of relief before reaching back to feel the burns on his back, only to immediately withdraw from the pain.

He looks over to his employer’s backpack, with all the medical supplies in it and thinks back to when Briar had gotten angry with him for looking through his things. He wasn’t allowed, so he just leaned against the wall carefully. Hopefully Briar would wake up soon so he could ask to use the medical supplies.

\----------

Charon woke suddenly to the feeling of someone gripping his face tightly. He reacted on instinct and without his control, pushing the person off with a growl and rushing to pin them against the dirty floor of the shack. It was only when he got a good look at the person’s face did he break out of this and realize it was Briar. He moved back immediately and put his head down, expecting punishment. “I apologize, I did not realize it was you.”

Of course, as he had come to expect from his strange employer, no punishment came. Briar was looking at him in confusion and concern, but there was no fear. The man didn’t blame him for attacking him then, good. The man shook his head then and reached out to touch Charon’s face again, trying to inspect a cut he had received. The ghoul stayed still this time. “W-Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“I.. You were unconscious.” The man gave Charon a confused look. Looks like he didn’t remember much of what happened and was possibly still disoriented, he must have just woken up. “You told me not to go through your belongings, so I decided to wait to ask you for medical supplies.”

Briar scowled at him in anger before shaking his head and retrieving his bag, dragging it over and opening it up. “I just… I didn’t want you looking at my journal or anything, I’m sorry I got mad. You’re welcome to all the medical supplies and food. Now.. Turn around and let me fix your back.”

Charon did as he was told, presenting his charred back to the other man. Briar let out a gasp of shock before quickly going to remove any remaining clothing that hadn’t been burned off. Charon distracted himself from the pain by wondering if Briar had been a doctor back before he lost his memories, he certainly acted like he had been someone smart. With Briar’s memory loss and slight brain damage, Charon figured it was kind of like having a really good car but not knowing how to drive.

Charon was pulled from his thoughts by intense pain on his back, causing him to growl lowly. “Sorry, sorry! Just let me disinfect this, a lot of debris has gotten into the wounds.”

The next 10 minutes consisted entirely of Charon enduring the pain and Briar apologizing profusely while he disinfected and treated the wounds. It was only when Briar began to wrap bandaging all around his chest and shoulders did he realize that this injury might put him out of commission for a while.

“We can go get you some new armor tomorrow, okay?” Suddenly he becomes aware of Briar moving to sit up against his side and watches curiously as the man tucks himself under Charon’s arm and yawns loudly. He then asks quietly. “Is this okay?”

His first instinct to say that no, it isn’t, but he finds he doesn’t really want this to end. Huh. So, he nods stiffly in reply and looks away from the smaller man, finding it hard to look at him. After a while, Briar goes limp against him as he falls asleep. This… This is okay. Right? Briar would never hurt him and will never, that means he can enjoy this?

He doesn’t know. But he wants this.. He really really wants this. He hasn't wanted anything in such a long time, but... maybe he is allowed to want things now.


	4. Taking care. (Arcade Gannon/Male Courier)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcade's medical skills are finally put to use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of past drug use and addiction, vomiting, migraines, general dad issues
> 
> Timebomb is my courier six. He is an extremely lucky junkie with a death wish and a very difficult past. His story will be elaborated on in future works.

Arcade woke slowly to the sensation of being freezing cold. He fumbled blindly for his glasses that sat on the end table next to him, almost knocking them off, before finally managing to get them on his face. He looked around him to see that the man he had fallen asleep with was missing, and the soft blanket that had been over them was pulled off and left on the floor. Well, that was strange. 

Though, strange things tended to happen around the famed Courier Six. He had been in a relationship with the man for a few weeks now and that was more true than ever. He had a hunch to what this was though, as it had happened before.

Going off his hunch, Arcade pushed himself up out of bed and headed to the room’s attached bathroom. There he found the courier kneeled over toilet (working, thank god for Mr. House), his dyed pink hair practically drenched in sweat. Arcade spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the man. “Timebomb? You okay?”

The man flinched at the sound of his partner’s voice, but didn’t turn to look at the other man. He shook his head weakly before saying simply, his voice rough from vomiting and his back so tense that Arcade almost wondered if he had a cramp. “Migraine.” 

Ah. That would explain it. Timebomb had said that he had migraines his entire life and that they had gotten worse after what Benny had done to him, but he had only ever witnessed a few. He had only known the man for half a year, after all. Arcade came over and sat down beside his boyfriend, looking at him in concern. He knew Timebomb was iffy about touch, especially when he wasn’t feeling well, so he asked quietly. “Can I touch you?”

The man nodded silently and moved towards Arcade, doing his best to not rock his head so he wouldn’t aggravate the headache. The doctor was quick to bring Timebomb into his arms and began stroking his hair, uncaring of the sweat. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

The courier nodded against Arcade’s chest, probably wiping all manner of body fluids on him, so the doctor carefully picked the man up and slowly brought him back to the bedroom, grabbing a trashcan on his way just in case. Timebomb let out a low whine as he was carefully laid in the soft bed. “There’s a trashcan right next to the bed, okay? I’m going to go get you something to drink.”

Arcade carefully pulled the blanket back over the courier before going to find a clean cup somewhere. As he searched, he couldn’t help but be struck by how strange it was seeing Timebomb like this. The man almost always held up such an air of confidence and power, Arcade had once seen him take on a deathclaw with only a pistol and win, that seeing him reduced to a whining mess was extremely jarring. No wonder Timebomb hated being seen as weak, if this could happen to him.

Arcade finally found a clean cup (whose turn was it to do the dishes again?) and carefully poured a can of purified from the fridge into it. He then retrieved some antacid tablets and a bottle of painkillers from the locked medicine cabinet, hopefully he’d be willing to take them even though they weren’t Med-X. Medicines like that tended to make migraines worse.

When the doctor returned, he found Timebomb bent over the trashcan, dry heaving loudly. Arcade sighed softly as he set the medicine and water he had brought on the end table and kneeling down to rub the courier’s back. He doesn’t know how long he sat comforting his boyfriend until finally the man leans back against Arcade, looking exhausted. The doctor smiles sadly at the other before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

As Arcade carefully lifted the man back into bed, he heard him mumble  _ something _ about his dad, he wasn’t sure what exactly. Timebomb always seemed to blame all his problems on his father, which was honestly fair. Most of Arcade’s problems could be blamed on his own father’s enclave ties. He didn’t know the full extent of the courier’s trauma, it could well be that most of his issues could be blamed on his father and Benny.

The doctor had his suspicions to who Timebomb’s father was, but he wasn’t one to make assumptions. That being said, the “somehow has a working car and possibly a psychic” MO was hard to ignore. The implications of that… are difficult to think about. So he doesn’t.

Once Arcade had the man laid out in bed, he handed the man his medications and watched silently as he carefully took them. It was only then that Timebomb finally relaxed, laying down in bed and curling up beside the doctor. Arcade couldn’t be more content with wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him flush to his body, especially when the man in his arms let out a sigh as he leaned back against him.

Long after Arcade thought Timebomb had fallen asleep, the man suddenly spoke softly. “Hey Arcade? I love you.”

Arcade swore his heart exploded right there. It was so fucking rare for the courier to actually say it, usually only expressing his love through his actions and not his words. The doctor took a gentle hold of Timebomb’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s neck. “I love you too, Timebomb.”


End file.
